Reality
by Valieara
Summary: WickedBookverse. Just before he first found Elphaba again, Fiyero had hoped it wouldn't be sacriligous to think of Glinda of the Arduennas while in St. Glinda's chapel. What was Elphaba herself doing? Oneshot.


Disclaimer: "Wicked, the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" belongs to Gregory Maguire. This was merely inspired by some part of it, and no copyright infringement was intended.

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"_Fiyero had not seen Glinda of the Arduennas since her graduation… but he hoped it would not be sacrilegious to light_ _a charmwax candle in front of Saint Glinda's likeness, and to think of her namesake…"_

_-"Wicked, The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West"_

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Of all the places she had ever lived, whether it be towns, cities, ghettos, or slums, this was the newest. It was a drab little place, barely habitable, on the edge of the slums of the Emerald City. Far from the average living conditions of most Ozians, it was also far from the worst flat she'd ever taken up residence in.

It wasn't much, but whatever else it wasn't, it _was_ a flat, which she supposed was more than could be said for some of her other residences. It contained much of what a flat must contain: a sagging bed, a worn table, a few stale and rancid food items – all of which were decaying or decayed, long since. Even if she hadn't known exactly what she was getting into four years ago, she did know now; and she knew she couldn't be picky. It was enough to get by, therefore it was enough.

The edge of the town the building was located on was nice enough, considering it was bordering the slums and the ghettos of the Emerald City. It was small enough no one higher up really cared about it, big enough none of its inhabitants cared much about getting too friendly with each other. The buildings were there and standing if not in the best of shape. They weren't about to collapse as they would have been in many other places under these circumstances. All that was really needed were a few major paint jobs, here and there, some foundation and cracking evaluation and work. Every once and a while, as in the case of her building, major woodwork needed to be done, old and rotted wood to be torn out. The roads were a bit worn down, the yellow bricks rooted up in some places, lying along the sidewalk in others, but overall easily enough traveled. Small businesses, meeting houses, and chapels or churches rose up only to a reasonable height at reasonable distances from each other on either side of the lane.

She came to know these streets, along with the streets of the closest neighboring suburbs very well; often she would have to walk a ways to appointed meeting places, often chapels - Unionist chapels. While she waited for the chosen sign and her new instructions, she would wander around, passing the time recalling knowledge she didn't know she had of the saints to whom the chapels were dedicated.

It quickly became apparent to her that Unionism was not so much on the decline in the Emerald City as was feared by the religion's ministers. It was on the decline, certainly, but the buildings and attributes still remained, they still stood. They were cared for. Believers still attended, still believed. The religion was not lost, simply overlooked, kept by faithful followers who would continue in this wayas long as they had to. She found this interesting, almost touching, if not inspiring. Was it so deeply rooted in Oz's history, or just the history of the town? Was it a mere sentimental ritual? Were they so outmoded, or were they rebelling against the Glorious Wizard in the small way they could?

Little churches and chapels were hidden away, dedicated to the memory of the saint's goodness. Indeed, it seemed that many of the Unionist faith's 100-odd saints had something dedicated to their memory: if not a chapel, it was a street, a townsquare, a park that rose up in their honor. But it wasn't until one morning when she opened her door that she found a pamphlet, seemingly dropped mistakenly, haphazardly, into a corner of the steps, that everything that was constructed those first few months collapsed.

She ceased to be Fae.

In those months the Elphaba of the past had sacrificed her past and her personality. Her past was largely unhappy, and so only a few bright spots stood out and were hard to extinguish: time spent with her mother Melena, memories of a happy Nessa, the last few years at Shiz and her friendships, Boq, Glinda, Fiyero… they were forced down and buried shallowly. At the time, it was enough. It was hidden and out of sight, and Elphaba ceased to be. There was no Elphaba; Elphaba did not exist. Fae emerged, stealing the now-nameless identity and making it her own. Nothing in four years was enough to shake off the loose covering, little though it would take.

But in that moment, the loose threads that held Fae together unraveled and came undone; the loose soil that made up her exterior was pushed away. In that moment, Fae never was. In that moment, Elphaba _became._

Blinking blankly at the pamphlet she held in her green hand, she found that in her renewed existence, there was weakness only noticeable against the heartlessness and cold of Fae, probably planted and grown in the few years at Shiz when her barriers were slightly lower. When Elphaba returned to herself after four years, she discovered that the newfound weakness refused to let her simply vanish again, sublime into thin air. Shakingly, vacantly holding the forgotten and Unnamed God-forsaken pamphlet for Saint Glinda's Cathedral, she acidly berated herself, reflecting even as she did so that she was back to stay for a while. The door to her flat slammed shut.

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It was still Elphaba, rather than Fae, who trekked the three-quarter hour journey down to Saint Glinda's Square an hour before the deciphered time, half past five. The sun was bright and a blinding orangey-yellow, nearing the time when she would be able to see nothing. She was _not_ looking forward to the return trip. Introverted, rather than outwardly focused, slightly vulnerable as opposed to closed off and protected, she slowly walked on until she reached the square a quarter hour early, with only her underlying sense of paranoia and danger. Closer to the City, it was better kept than many of the neighboring suburb townsquares she had seen: paved, lighted, only ten or so years out of date, altogether well kept. However, few people and no Animals bustled about; aside from the few carriages and a family of Gillikenese on the street, only a few Glikkuns and a Winkie strolled in the park across from the Good Saint's chapel. She sat invisibly on a bench across the street. The chapel and it's sister convent looked back peacefully at her. 

Like Fae before her would have done, the first thing Elphaba did was assess all points of entry and exit in the chapel. It was a building she'd never seen or been to before, being closer to the City than she usually went. Aside from the large, heavy, wooden double doors that served as the main entrance, Elphaba spotted at least two discreet servant entries on either side of the building that emptied into small, dank allies. At least, this was all she could see sitting on the wooden bench across the street. Estimating ten minutes had passed after a few moments, she raised her head. Seeing only three people, none of the same she had seen earlier, she rose and crossed the street.

She used the heavy wooden doors the set of steps led up to and entered the quiet chapel, immediately bowing her head in reverence. A service was just beginning. Elphaba narrowed her eyes, and her stride became stiffer. The whole time she walked with the mass into the small sanctuary, following the lyre music.

Suddenly, silently, a hand swathed in black gently but insistently grabbed her sharp elbow, directing her into the last aisle of the chapel, leading into a cove of sorts. Elphaba gave the hand a slight squeeze, almost imperceptibly inclining her head. The hand just as suddenly let go. Elphaba turned her head to gaze sharply down the aisle; there, at the end, was her destination.

Saint Glinda's clear gaze settled on her as Elphaba made her way toward her. Elphaba never broke their gaze, unreal as it was. There were stains, cracks, and creases Glinda of the Arduennas would never have permitted. They marred the Saint's skin with dark blotches, damp spots, and long, dripping bleached stains. It could have been a much more inspiring sight. Still, Elphaba threw a glance behind her.

Quickly, her long and green nimble fingers drew a match and deftly struck it, then touched it to the wick of a candle, before placing it in front of the Good Saint's ikon. It's pinkish glow filled the room. Feeling ridiculous and out of her character, she knelt before the image, knowing that if she had gone this far and was happened upon, she had better go all the way. Better to appear a penitent disciple and let her pride take a blow. And so she waited.

It wasn't long before Elphaba felt the clear gaze upon her turn decidedly blue, vain, and happy, perhaps laughing. She reprimanded herself sharply – Elphaba though she was, she couldn't let it interfere with what she was here to do. _Really, Elphie – how likely is it really that anyone will find out? What will it hurt?_

Elphaba rolled her eyes. _Everything._ Suppose someone came in here and did throw her off balance? So many things could happen with her like this, so many things could go wrong… Yet there was that little annoying Glinda-like voice telling her she was being overly paranoid, like she always had been.

Dear silly Glinda. Elphaba doubted that is was her intention to become the Good Saint's namesake, by dropping the _a_ out of her name – as far as she knew, Glinda had never been religious. As far as she knew. Perhaps she had been, once. Or maybe she was now. Maybe with some sense in her head now, she'd been able to rub off on her society friends… what was it? Fannie? Shinshen, or something of the likes? Elphaba snorted.

Was she still such an idiot at times? Or worse, had she reverted to Galinda while she'd been away? Elphaba dearly hoped not. But she was alive; she was safe. If she'd reverted to Galinda, it was because she could, because she was alive. She was safe, she was protected. Still alive, pretty, naïve, and not as sophisticated as she would have liked. If she was Galinda, she was Galinda because she'd had the opportunity.

_Was_ she still Glinda? Loveable, sensible Glinda? Elphie hoped so. She pushed back a long lock of straight black hair, fallen elegantly out of her ivory twist. She was suddenly aware of the more subtle changes in her body, as well as herself, and the years past presented themselves. They were adults. She felt as she always had, not a day older than she had at Shiz. Yet years had passed. Was Glinda married? She'd mentioned going back to Frottica and becoming so after her graduation… three years ago? Was she a mother? Elphaba suddenly had a vision of golden haired children running around her angular green ankles. Perhaps she was never meant to be"Aunt Elphie". It seemed so strange to be thinking of this, but Elphaba was still buried in her Shiz days. She had yet to catch up to the present.

She didn't particularly want to.

She chided herself instantly. This was her cause, this was why she was here, not to stare at some unknown Saint's image and reminisce on years past and what wouldn't be. This was why she was in constant danger. Not to frivol it away on stupid things.

And Glinda was safe. Yes, Glinda, and Nessa, and Boq, even Fiyero. Even Pfanne and Shinny.

Her eyebrow quirked. It was time to stop. Anything could happen, and she'd spoiled herself with the luxury of remembering for far too long. It was far too dangerous. Anything could catch her off guard. She sighed, her razor sharp chin briefly touching her chest. It _was_ peaceful here, if nothing else. She almost wouldn't mind coming back...

"Elphaba?"

Her heart stopped.

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_That doesn't soften the ache we feel when Reality sets back in...

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End file.
